I meant to post this earlier in the week, before discovering the very disconcerting flaky internet situation at the Pittsburgh Hilton. I seem to be connected right now (thank goodness) so there’s no time like the present…!

Sonia Simone has a glorious post up at Remarkable Communication about when to be a badass—and when to regroup.

We overlook this one all the time. She’s right; we all yell about being brave, howling our battle cries and charging forth into the great unknown. But anyone who’s gotten anywhere also has an oft-neglected advantage that doesn’t get talked about nearly as often: The kind of critical thinking that tells you when to charge, and when to back off. Sometimes the best thing you can do is give yourself space to succeed.

I forget this easily, and I think a lot of us do. Being brave is hard. Doing the brave thing is a lifelong challenge for most of us, something we have to remind ourselves of, something we have to dredge up courage to engage in. Remembering that our critical decision-making rules the game, that’s a little more subtle. It’s also not as obvious. And, come to think of it, it probably takes a little more skill and a whole different kind of courage.

I’m talking about the kind of courage it takes to stay strong and respect your own decision when you decide it’s time to take on a few more hours at that crappy day job. The kind of courage it takes to keep building your own business when you’re hacking away at projects you don’t care about (the ones currently paying your bills). The kind of courage it takes to continue to believe in yourself and work towards progress even when you have to take a few tiny steps backwards. Giving ground to a tussle, now and then, but staying determined to win the war.

Our battle cry gets us out into the open where the scary things live, but it’s so important to be able to engage in critical thinking about the best course of action right now, no matter what that turns out to be. Sometimes it’s disappointing, or scary in a completely different way. Having the wherewithal (and the balls) to make that decision is what makes you YOURS. It’s what means you can take care of yourself. Don’t fly blind. See, be aware, and know that you’ll come out on top in the end.

Remarkable Communication: How to Quit Being a Badass.

Do you know what’s terrifying?

THE WHOLE WORLD.

The whole world is a scary, horrible, terrifying place that gives no quarter in hours of stress. You can’t run away. You can’t hide. It is always out there, waiting for you. You are expected to just put up with it and be brave and be strong and so you put on a chirpy happy face and pretend everything is okay even though you are SHITTING YOURSELF in terror.

And there is nothing more terrifying than getting your fat measured by your svelte CrossFit coach on a Sunday afternoon.

NOTHING.

So I go to get my body composition measured because it’s happening today and I want to know if the measurements I took on my own were correct.

I’m pretty sure they weren’t, but I’m hoping they aren’t worse.

They can’t really be higher than I think they are, can they?

First I write down some goals (very nice goals, I think) and then we measure circumferences of limbs and things. I stand there and pretend it’s completely normal. La la la, nothing much, just getting my FAT MEASURED by my CrossFit coach! Ho hum, lazy Sunday afternoon, let’s see what my body fat percentage is today, I look over his shoulder as he writes it down, FORTY PERCENT?? There’s a plus sign, what does that plus sign mean? OVER FORTY PERCENT!?

Much higher than I thought. A part of me dies quietly of horror, and the rest of me makes pleasant conversation. “Ha ha, it was such a coincidence that you were doing body composition today, since I measured myself exactly a week ago and expected to do it again pretty much now,” ha ha, what SERENDIPITY! THAT’S SO FUNNY! Would you like more fat to measure? HERE’S MY BUTT, LET’S MEASURE THAT!

I was going to write this post a few weeks ago, when I started the instructional classes. I was going to write it then because, while I have maintained my internal composure excellently in the days leading up to CrossFit classes and in the spaces between them, I have rediscovered every single class how absolutely fundamentally terrifying it is for me to be there. Just to be there. And I finally wrote this post today because on the way home from measuring my body composition I remembered how very much I wanted to hyperventilate into a paper bag just thinking about it. Why, Megan? Why should this be terrifying?

Well… here’s the problem.

I don’t really believe I’m meant to be there.

I don’t really see myself as ever occupying the same universe Emily does, with her 125 pounds of muscle and 10% body fat. I can’t imagine how I can possibly belong at CrossFit. There is a small part of me who is waiting to be kicked out. “You can’t do these things,” they will say. “You’re not good enough. You’re different. You’re just not capable of them.” And I won’t be allowed to attend classes anymore. Maybe they won’t even refund my money! Because I’m not like them, not worth bothering with.

Every little indignity rubs the terror in, even though they haven’t kicked me out (yet, something says to me)—that I’m not like them, and not good enough. I needed to be in the beginners’ classes instead of the regular CrossFit classes. I can’t keep up with the run. I can’t do a fake, easy pushup. I run out of oxygen so fast when we’re doing anything. And apparently my body fat is ten percent higher than I thought it was. O GOD, the VIOLENCE done by NUMBERS!

Why is it that I think I’m “not like them”? Well, I’m just not capable of the things they’re capable of. I have to make excuses for myself—oh, I hurt myself easily. I can’t move that fast. I’ve never been able to do regular pushups. Whine, excuse, complain. Every time we learn something new, I actually have to STIFLE THE REFLEX to take someone aside and let them know that I need to do something different because I’m not like everyone else. I’m supposed to be an exception. A weaker exception. My whole life, I have made allowances for myself. It’s okay, you just can’t do what they’re doing. That doesn’t make you a bad person.

BUT IT DOES. IT DOES, it DOES make me a bad person. It makes me a bad person BECAUSE THOSE WERE ALL LIES!!

BIG FAT STINKING LIES!!

My whole life I’ve been lying to myself saying that I can’t be like that, I can’t be strong, I can’t be fast, I can’t feel good, I’ll never be able to climb a tree or run a race or fight evildoers with my bare fists, I have completely exempted myself from those categories, and I’ve been telling myself these LIES for SO MANY YEARS that NOW I FINALLY BELIEVE THEM. I believe them so powerfully that the very act of attending a CrossFit class—completely separate from the fear of being physically unattractive, of not being liked, of having spent money on the wrong solution—the very ACT of participating instills an enormous amount of terror just because I’m afraid I don’t belong there. Afraid that if they really knew who they were dealing with, they’d reject me out of hand. And wondering when they’ll find out, wondering how long I’ll last before they do. WHEN WILL THE OTHER SHOE DROP? Will they yell? Will they be disappointed? Will they be disgusted with themselves for not having seen it sooner?

How long before they realize I’m not capable and exile me to a special country for incapable people? How long? How long do I have? Because the incredibly perverse part of all of this is that with all of the effort, and the grunting and the sweating and the exhaustion and the struggle to have enough oxygen to breathe and the embarrassment of consistently being the very last person back from the 400 meter run, with 98% of visible participants slimmer or prettier than me, with Marty being insanely stronger and more conditioned than I am and better at all of it, even with everything else I’ve mentioned, with the sheer impossibility of ensuring my appearance when my hair is pinned up and my clothes are soaked in sweat…

With all of that…

All those things, the perverse part is…

I actually… LIKE IT.

I want to do it.

I don’t want them to kick me out. I don’t want them to tell me that they made a mistake, that I can’t really do this thing after all. I don’t want Em to IM me someday and say, You know, it might just be better if you did something else instead…

I am so afraid that someone will make me stop, when part of me is absolutely certain that I don’t deserve to keep going. And I like doing it so much I could CRY, because it scares the HELL out of me to go.

The world is like this.

The world is a fucking terrifying place with bad monsters and a perceived ability to hear all the negative thoughts in people’s heads when they look at you and situations that are hard and the frequent discovery that you’re worse than everyone else at the thing you thought you were good at.

The world is hard and scary and awful.

But you have to keep living there ANYWAY. You have to keep trying. You have to chip away at the thing, you have to change yourself. THIS is not an opportunity, this is not an obligation, this is a FACT. Opting out produces no results. No one can change you FOR you. You have to make the hard things happen because you’re obstinate enough to push and push and push until they do. You can’t just stop because something is scary. You have to be scarier. You have to be stronger and braver.

THAT is why I’ll go to every freaking CrossFit class. I will go five days a week as soon as they’ll let me in June, and I will love every minute of it. I will go to free workouts on Saturdays. I will voluntarily get my body fat measured and I will do it with a smile on my face, month after month after month. I will do the pushups I “can’t do” and I will run that 400 meters every time even if I’m way behind because that’s the only way for any of it to get better. Inside my head I will cry and scream and insist that I CAN’T and think of ways to trick them into letting me stay instead of making me leave, and I will sweat and pant and be afraid and keep going anyway.

Outside, I will look brave and determined and continue to do everything I’m supposed to do to get through this. I will keep going when it’s horrible, when it’s hard, when I can’t figure out how it ends, I have to keep going because NOTHING ELSE WILL GET ME THROUGH. Because the only alternative is to stop, and that’s no alternative at all.

Just wanting to feel better won’t make me strong. Pretending, lying to myself, won’t make me strong. Talking about it won’t make me strong. Being a pansy and getting away with less than my best won’t make me strong. Making excuses won’t make me strong. ONLY DOING IT WILL MAKE A DIFFERENCE.

So god help me, I’m going to do it.

Red-faced and terrified, I will conquer the world.

You’re about to witness a late night rant. Let’s see how coherent it turns out, shall we?

I’ve actually been going about this all the wrong way.

I’ve been putting off important parts of my life “until I have more money,” but I’ve been discounting the very mechanism that continues to bring me money, month after month, even when I am down to a week between me and the Big Scary Abyss of Doom, the very mechanism that has never failed me so long as I maintain confidence in it.

That mechanism is real, undeniable need.

Sometimes I call it “desperation.” (I do not recommend that mechanism. Please use a different one whenever possible.) But it’s not hopeless the way desperation is—it engenders action, not despair. My best work (my most amazing feats of daring and success) happen when they absolutely need to.

And whatever you call it (even if you say “desperation” but don’t really mean it), there’s something to be said for having a working mechanism. I’ve been examining my life for a method that turns my “three week margin” set point into a “three month margin” set point, and continues to improve from there. The whole time, the whole time, it’s been right there in front of me. So let me explain how this works:

Let’s say I have $2500. Awesome! $2500, I say to myself, that will pay most of this month’s bills. It will get the rent paid and we’ll be through to the 15th or so. Fantastic!

Then I will go to the dentist and the dentist will put on his Bad Face and say “OMG!!1eleven, you need a root canal!” And I will say “WHAT!?? I DO NOT!” and the dentist will say “OMG!!1eleven you SO DO and it will cost ELEVENTYBILLION DOLLARS.”

Then I will pass out.

Nightmare, anyone?

When I wake up, I will say, “Well crap, I guess we have to pay them eleventy billion dollars. Write the bad dentist man a check.” And then (probably after I obtain painkillers for my pending root canal) I will go about deciding how to make more money. Because, well… I have to. Whining, fearing, arguing, none of this will help, so I mostly don’t bother. I just fix it.

Sure, I’ll be nervous. Sure, I’ll feel some trepidation and worry a little about whether I can do it. But mostly (because I’ve done this a ton of times now and I know that it always SOMEHOW works out) I will enforce a sense of confidence and determination, and I will get the thing done. Even down to the wire, all kinds of excellent things can happen to turn things to my favor. The trick is to plan well and make them happen much sooner than later.

And I can do that.

I don’t know why I can’t do that when I DON’T need the money in the next three weeks. I’m still working that part out. It’s a fascinating process.

And in the meantime, there are things we “need.” Not root canal need, but state of mind and organization need. Like bookshelves. Incredibly useful and legitimate business expenses that I’ve been putting off, a whole list of them. Groceries (those are nice, I like those). And we haven’t really bought new clothes in, gulp, probably a few years now. (Hell, they don’t even have to be NEW. Just new to US!)

I’m not talking about hauling off on a daily sushi binge; I’m not talking about spending a great deal more money than is usually in our budget every month. I AM talking about increasing that budget gradually, planning for it, and proclaiming myself capable of dealing with the additional margin. Why on earth not? Many lookers-on were skeptical that Marty could quit his day job and we could both survive perfectly well working for ourselves. Listeners shuddered when they found out that we added a big monthly car payment right around the time he quit. Oh yes, and then our rent went up!

Would you like to guess how many times we’ve actually been unable to pay our rent? Go ahead, guess.

ZERO. (Was that what you guessed?)

How about how many times we’ve had to negotiate a payment plan with a utility company because we couldn’t send them a check?

Nope.

Never happened.

We’ve gotten rid of bills here, added other ones there. And we keep paying them. And 99% of them have been paid on time, every time. That doesn’t sound to me like two people at the brink of destitution. It doesn’t sound to me like people who are incapable of improving their lot in life. It doesn’t sound to me like people who must be content with the boxes they’ve been dropped into.

That sounds to me like two people who can get what they need, when they need it, because they’re capable, courageous, clever—and alliterative, an attribute you must never underestimate. All I have to do is buy the things I need when I need them, and create more income to cover them. It won’t be hard—especially if I plan well, take it in reasonable increments—and especially after the money is spent. Then there’s no going back. I’m great with the Point of No Return, man.

I am not crazy. These are not crazy ideas.

YOU can do this, too. All you need is to make the decision, be brave, and carry through. Almost ANYONE can do this. I’m not even sure I need to use the word “almost.” If you look deep enough inside yourself you’re going to see the same things I’ve seen. Tremendous will power, infinite creativity, true ability to put yourself wherever you want to be. I don’t doubt it for a second.

Anyway, after we pay April’s rent, I’m probably going to buy a freaking bookcase. Or something else on the long list of things I’ve been putting off.

Think about it.

PS. HEY! YOU! Yes, you. I hope you don’t think this is a good excuse to do something incredibly stupid with your budget. I’m talking increments here, people. I’m talking confidence and increments. Be reasonable. But be BRAVE.

PPS. Oh! No, no root canals. That was just an example. Incidentally, though, that exact brand of spur-of-the-moment root canal has happened to me in the past. It was scary; we got through it just fine. I don’t expect any more root canal escapades, honestly; I stopped eating sugar and started drinking just gallons of green juice. I’m probably in pretty good shape.

PPPS. Our scenario assumes, of course, that “eleventy billion” is less than $2500. Just pretend.

Bob Poole asked me about my take on America’s educational system and in my attempt to provide him with a coherent response, I blew a gasket. It popped out of my left ear. I have no idea how to put it back. Where the hell does it even go? (I don’t think I have enough cash in my account to hire a mechanic, either.)

I decided to give it pride of place on top of the TV set. It’s kind of a memento, you know? Of frustration.

When I first watched Sir Ken’s TED presentation I just about burst into tears. I was lucky, man. I went to a great school that had a pretty reasonable slot in the budget for arts and theater. (What? You didn’t know I was an arts & theater kid? Have you even been paying attention?) Oh, there were boxes, there was plenty of math and science and there was plenty of “You’d be a Good Kid IF…” But I made out better than most. I was educated in a private, Catholic institution for almost all of my pre-university schooling—there were nuns. There were a lot of smart people, too.

I can’t even grasp what most kids grow up with these days. Kids in public schools deal with way more bullshit than I can even really grasp. (My one year in public school in seventh grade was QUITE enough for me, thanks.) I hear more horror stories about misguided teachers wantonly crushing the spirits of brilliant, creative, unorthodox-and-amazing children than you could shake a stick at. But it’s the school system I want to shake a stick at. Because we’re all but living in the dark ages with this industrial crap. We’re not training kids to work in factories anymore, people. They need to be prepared for the real world—the one we have now, and the one after that, and the one after that. They need to be flexible and wise. They need to be strong and compassionate and brave. They need to be warriors of the soul, leaders who take us forward, voices that challenge us to grow.

And we’re teaching them to put down their brains and do everything the same.

It makes me itch all over just thinking about it. And I could rant forever, but I’m going to stop here and point you to Bob’s post (wherein the rest of my diatribe is contained). Go read what we had to say.

You haven’t seen the end of this one.

Embarrassment. Fear. Dread. Uh oh. What will happen if they find out?

You know, I used to feel this way all the time. I used to feel this way about every little thing under the sun. And you know what?

I still feel this way a lot.

But now I remember what it is, and what to do with it.

What I don’t do is act on that fear—on my good days. When I feel it, I try hard to listen so that I can confront the thing I’m afraid of. What? What was that? Afraid of what people will think if you don’t shave your legs today, huh? Terrified? Imagining what they’ll say about you? Creating pariah scenarios in your head?

Oh yeah, really?

Time to get rid of all the razors and see what actually happens.

(Would you like to hazard a guess as to whether anything actually happened?)

As important as unrepressing myself was to the direction my life has taken—to everything I do now and everything I want to be, and all the skills that are allowing me to move forward—I’m still afraid when I post something to do with sex. “Sex is bad,” something says. I will be rejected for being willing to discuss it in public, it says. But you know what? That rarely ever happens. (I just did it again yesterday in a spectacularly entertaining and ridiculous way, so I’ll let you know if I get any more fallout than usual. That is to say, none.)

The thing is, I really care about the public dialogue about sexuality, even if I don’t write about it often these days. So knowing that I fear that discussion is really frustrating for me. Knowing that, I want to confront it whenever I have the opportunity. I think it’s the right thing to do. I think our fears need to be confronted.

That’s how we grow.

It’s not just about sex. It’s not about dating, or marketing, or cold calls. It’s not about parties or chatrooms. It’s not about flying in planes or swimming in deep water or moving to Africa. It’s not about having fuzzy legs, either. It’s not about polyamory or veganism or making new friends or launching a new business or any one thing.

It’s about you. It’s about who you’re meant to be. It’s about the person you can grow into, the person you’re moving toward, the person that happens if nothing squelches you. You don’t set out to be squelched. You set out to be amazing. So why would you let anything get in your way?

Get rid of all the razors in the house, or start writing about the topics that scare you, or whatever else you have to do to confront that voice in your head. Hell—it might be the only thing you have standing between you and greatness. You’re not going to let that stop you.

Are you?

They tell you this when you get started, but most of the time it doesn’t sink in until later. It’s very exciting to strike out on your own—to do the thing that can’t be done, or to be one brave person in a sea of sheep. It’s incredibly empowering. There isn’t any feeling like it in the world. But sooner or later, this other thing happens—this not so great feeling thing.

Sometimes doing your own thing means feeling very scared and alone.

When you’re the only person who can get your rent paid, there isn’t anyone left to blame or appeal to or confide in. If you’re the person coming up with the ideas that allow you to do what you do, you have to keep coming up with the ideas—there isn’t someone to spell you and unless you plan well, there aren’t any vacations.

Unless you’re just stupidly lucky, your parents won’t swoop in and save the day. Or your aunt. Or your ex-boyfriend.

More than that, when you take the less-traveled path, very few people understand what you’re going through. It’s not just a matter of confiding; it’s a matter of another person knowing where you’re coming from, having actually been there themselves. Sometimes you have to push through by yourself, and man, it’s not easy.

But you have to have faith that you will get there—even when three weeks of income turns into one, and your support structure falls away. You have to have faith that this thing you’re doing is real and meaningful and worth it, that you have value and the world recognizes it (when you need it to do so now more than ever). You have to re-examine the details and turn out the cracks where you’ve made baseless assumptions and discover resources you’d forgotten. This is where the thin layers of fat get consumed, where you start to get stronger and come to know what kind of person you really are.

Can you do it? For real?

This is where you find out for sure.

Idea generation is infinite. You can come up with another one at any time.

Don’t hang on to an idea so hard that you fail to actually implement it. It may never be perfect, and that’s okay. The important part is that you try big, learn from the experience, and keep moving forward.

This is not the last great idea you’re going to get. Step out of your comfort zone and do something with it before you forget why it was so exciting.

Okay?

Why, exactly, do you need an excuse?

Why do you need a program? Or a scholarship, or a recommendation, or a mandate, or an initiative, or somebody else’s carefully crafted plan?

Why not execute your own carefully crafted plan?*

Why do you have to wait for opportunity to knock? You can make your own opportunity, right now.

You know what it looks and feels like. You know what you want the results to be. You know that you’re craving a challenge, but you don’t need someone else to challenge you. Challenge yourself. Cut the path on your own. If you’re waiting for someone to boot your success system, you might be waiting a long time. WHY. WAIT. (!?)

Is this what they teach us? Is this the conditioning we’ve been living with? Is this what we tell our kids? Is this why so many of us are sitting on our butts playing blame games with our lives? Who told you to wait? Why do you think they were right? Stop listening to them. They don’t know what they’re talking about. It was time to get started years ago. You can catch up by getting off your ass now and doing something.

Do I have to beg, or are you going to quit jerking around and make something happen?

* “But Megan, I don’t have a plan.” Oh geeze, of all the goofy excuses. GO MAKE ONE!

The other urge I’m experiencing… is the urge to wait for someone to tell me what to do.

RESIST! RESIST!!